CHAPTER III
Michael arrived in time to receive the body of the Princess in Paris.Before her death her mind had been illuminated by the sudden flare ofreason which is the signal of the end in cases of serious mentaldisturbances. She had left various papers on which she had noted loansmade to certain persons, and judicious suggestions for her son in regardto the management of the enormous fortune. She wanted to be buriedbeside her husband, her first husband, "the hero," in the Pere Lachaisecemetery. During the last years she had stayed in Paris, she had beenseized once more by the craze for building, and had busied herself withthe preparation of her final dwelling place. Beside the mausoleum of theMarquis of Villablanca, whose image, frowning and indomitable, held inone hand a broken sword, she had set up another monument no lessostentatious with a statue which was supposed to be her exact likenessand was nothing less than the semblance of the unhappy Queen of Scots,as it appears in the engraving of the Romanticist period.
During the funeral ceremonies, Michael Fedor met again many persons whoformerly visited the Lubimoff palace, and whom he had thought were dead.Dona Mercedes in tears embraced him. She had become extraordinarilystout, and the coppery complexion inherited from her Aztec ancestors hadtaken on an unhealthy ascetic pallor. She looked like the MotherSuperior of a noble convent of nuns. At her side, Monsignor, in his silkcassock and with an air of compunction, was moving his lips to save thedead woman's soul. "My son! We have all our sorrows." And as she saidthis, the poor lady looked at another woman elegantly dressed inmourning who stood there somewhat aloof, in the cemetery, and seemedutterly incapacitated by the ceremony which had obliged her to risebefore noon.
The Duchess de Delille also came forward to meet him, taking both hishands and giving him a strange glance.
"Your mother loved me ... really loved me. During these last years wesaw each other very often."
Michael nodded assent. He knew that already. The Princess Lubimoff hadbeen the one loyal friend of this passionate unscrupulous woman, who wasgradually losing every one's respect. She had defended Alicia when otherhigh society women declared open war and closed their doors to her,fearing for their husbands' fidelity. As she used to play every winterat Monte Carlo, she had been in the company of the Princess up to thelast moments.
"She loved me more than my mother ever did.... Perhaps she rememberedthat I might have been her daughter."
The Prince walked away, as though annoyed by this allusion. He had heardsuch things about her!... But all during the ceremony he kept seeing herin his mind's eye. She was still beautiful, but so strangely beautiful.Her skin had lost the golden tinge of ripened fruit, and now was pale,the dull white of Japanese paper. Her large eyes, which gave off greenand yellow glints, stared with disturbing fixity and seemed at the sametime to have a blank expression, as though covered by an invisiblespider web. Her least bitter enemies accused her of a certain propensityfor spirits. She drank all sorts of American mixed drinks like anhabitue of the bars. Other people attributed her pallor and thecontinual darkly bewildered look in her eyes to morphine, opium and allthe various liquids and perfumes producing lethargy and creating"artificial paradise." The little Alicia of former years was drinking,draining it to the last drop from the cup of life in deep draughts.
Michael Fedor thought that he had seen the last of her, but a few dayslater he began to receive letters. He was alone, and must be feelingsad, so she was inviting him to come and eat with her, informally, ofcourse, as was natural among close relatives. His evasions brought freshinvitations by telephone. The Prince, like a person fulfulling atiresome social obligation, finally went one evening to her littlepalace in the Avenue du Bois, one of the numerous imitations of thePetit Trianon, which are to be found in various parts of the world.
The Duchess de Delille was proud of this edifice and the tiny gardenwith its sharp, gilded grating, in front of which all fashionable Parispassed. Michael was acquainted with the drawing rooms without everhaving been inside them. The illustrated journals, which cover thestyles of wealthy social life, had published photographs, in Europe andAmerica, of the interior of her residence. Gossip had kept him informedof Alicia's strange life. She had suddenly been taken with the maddesire of seeing people, of being admired, and of astonishing every oneby her prodigality. She gave a series of great fetes, and publiclyprotested because the municipality of Paris would not allow her toilluminate the entire Champs Elysees and the Arch of Triumph so that herguests might ride up to her very door in a fiery apotheosis. She hadgiven a garden party in the Bois de Boulogne, with water sports, anddances of sacred dancers, brought from Asia. The buffet supper had beenprepared for three thousand guests. On another occasion, for a singlecostume ball, she spent a hundred thousand francs, to transform part ofher residence into an interior of Persian style and the next day shebegan to have the rooms restored to their original state.
Suddenly she would disappear, and people would wink and make maliciouscomments because she left no address. Some new love affair! Hers werenearly always wandering fancies, that called for long trips and newhorizons! Perhaps she was in Constantinople or in Egypt; perhaps she wasin hiding in one of the large New York hotels. At times such guesseswere right; and then again the most intimate friends of the Duchesscould affirm that she had not left Paris. Was not her automobilestanding in front of the door?
This was another of Alicia's eccentricities. At all hours of the day andnight, one of her various expensive cars was kept in readiness in frontof the stairway. Three chauffeurs divided the service between them. Theystayed in the porter's quarters; and as soon as the bell was heard, theyhad only to put on their gloves, run to the machine, and start themotor. She often chose the most extraordinary hours for going out.Sometimes it would be just after returning from a ball, then again shewould get up for a ride after she had gone to bed. Frequently she wouldselect the early morning hours which were usually her time of soundestsleep.
At times the chauffeurs would succeed each other, week after week,without leaving the gate of the mansion. The Duchess did not care to goout. She no longer felt her sudden impulses to ride aimlessly aboutParis, while the city slept, pay unseasonable calls, or glide throughthe woods on the outskirts of the capital at the height of some violentstorm. Meantime, the autos seemed to age, as they stood theremotionless, now with their wheels deep in the snow of the courtyard, andagain with the glass of the wind shield flecked with the tear drops ofthe slanting rain, that swept under the glass covered porte-cochere.During all such periods, Alicia, in spite of her restless impulsivenature, would be spending whole days in bed, telling her intimatefriends that to keep one's beauty one must take a "rest cure" from timeto time. She would entertain her friends at dinner without getting outof bed. The table would be spread in luxurious fashion in her largebedroom, and lying between the sheets, with the dishes within reach on atiny table, she would laugh and chat for hours with her guests. Monthswould go by without her seeing the outside of her house, while thecostly objects in her rooms, amassed to indulge her whims, were quiteforgotten. Her vanity was satisfied, at such times, by the mere fact ofhaving constructed a costly jewel case to harbor her idleness.
The Prince met her in a little reception room on the ground floor. Shewas in truth receiving him with absolute lack of ceremony. She wasdressed in a black tunic of her own invention, a combination of theGreek peplum and the Japanese kimono. Her bare arms floated free fromthe soft silk that almost seemed to live, it clung so closely to herbody. Underneath it, half revealed, were the contours and perfumedwarmth of her flesh, hidden by no inner veils. Michael glanced at histuxedo and gleaming shirt-front as though his own costume were quite outof place.
As she took him to the elevator, which was white and quilted like aglove box, he caught a rapid glimpse of the drawing rooms of the lowerfloor, ostentatious, but left in a shadow almost as dark as night; ofthe large dining-hall, deserted, with the furniture covered; of thelittle dining-room in which there were no signs whatsoever ofpreparations.... Where
was she taking him?... Was the table set in herbedroom?
The elevator passed the second floor without stopping? "We are going tomy study," said Alicia. "I eat there when I am alone."
The Prince was amazed at the so-called "study," a large room whichoccupied a major portion of the third floor, and in which only one ortwo books in a small book-rack were to be seen. The place was decoratedin imitation "Far East" style: plain black lacquer furniture, silkeither of pale shades or of an intense dark purple, and an array offrightful idols. A diffused bluish light, like that used in night sceneson the stage, descended from the ceiling. A screen, embroidered with adesign in gold, formed a sort of second more intimate room, the floor ofwhich was covered with white rugs of fur, with long, silky hair. Heapedabout were dozens of pillows of various colors adorned with wingedreptiles and unheard of flowers.
An exotic, penetrating odor made Lubimoff wince. He knew that perfume.And there was a look of severity in his eyes as he glanced sharply atthe Duchess.
"Sit down," she said. "They are going to serve us."
As the Prince looked about, without seeing any sort of a chair, Aliciaset him an example, dropping on a heap of cushions. Michael sat down inthe same fashion, beside a tiny mother of pearl table no bigger than atabouret. On it a lamp with a dark shade let fall a circle of softlight. Inwardly the Prince began to feel a boiling of suppressed angeras he thought of his evening wasted.
"You must have eaten this way often," she continued, "you have traveledmore than I. The style of decoration must be familiar to you."
Yes; he knew the style, the original and authentic style, and for thatvery reason he did not care to see it again in imitation. Besidesobliging him to eat on the floor, there in a house on the Avenue deBois.... What an affectation!
But in a short time his opinion began to change. A poseur sheundoubtedly was, but affectation had already become a more or lessnatural trait in her, a sort of second nature. He guessed that even inits slightest details none of this had been prepared especially for him.Alicia lived and ate there when she was alone just as she was doingthen. She was prey to a desire to be different from other people evenwhen no one was noticing her.
The servant in charge of the meal was a copper-colored man with a longdown-curling mustache. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, with a whitecloth wrapped around his legs like a skirt. He had long hair, done up onhis head like a woman's and held in place by a tortoiseshell comb. TheAsiatic was placing the huge trays containing the food on the floor:Some of the dishes were of ancient hammered silver, others of manycolored lacquer, or of semi-transparent materials made in imitation ofemerald, topaz, and red sealing wax.
For Michael the meal looked like something a great chef might haveprepared if he had suddenly gone mad and made up the dishes in the midstof his ravings. There was not a single item that suggested theharmonious course of an ordinary dinner. The palate acted on theimagination, awakening memories of distant travels, visions of far offlands. Exotic preserves alternated with hot dishes. Pastry flavored withpenetrating perfumes was served along with sharp, biting, or intenselybitter sauces.
Alicia, half reclining on the cushions, looking at the dishes withoutappetite, extended her hand carelessly toward the most unusualdelicacies, and those with the most pungent and racy savors. Clearlythe perversion of her palate was profound. She herself saw to it thatMichael's glass was always filled. It was a drink of her own invention,having a champagne base. It burned and rasped his mouth, paralyzing allother sensation with its stinging coolness. It penetrated his nostrilswith a lingering scent of the rarest flowers and of Asiatic spices.
Speaking of the dead Princess, Alicia came to mention her own mother.They were now on terms of open hostility. Her eyes began to gleam withdefiance as she was reminded of Dona Mercedes, confined in theChamps-Elysee residence with her court of clericals, and showing herselfin public only for the organizing of pious works. She was trying tostarve her only daughter to death!... And as Michael smiled at thisexplosion of anger, she explained her grievances.
"She gives me hardly anything; a mere nothing: half a million francs.And I have to hand two hundred and fifty thousand a year over to myhusband: a rather expensive lover, whom I avoid seeing. You are reallyrich, my dear, and don't understand such things.... Since the fortune isall in her name, she tries to starve me out and keeps her money tosquander it with the priests.... Poor Senora! She can't find anyadmirers now except that _Monsignor_ and other sponges like him.... AndI, her own daughter, have to implore her like a beggar for the crumbsshe gives me, seasoned with sermons.... Oh, if it hadn't been for yourmother! She really was a great lady: I never lamented my poverty to herin vain; she gave me even more than I asked for. You know of course thatI owe you some money. A little.... I don't know how much. Didn't youreally know that?... I shall pay you back when I get my inheritance."
And with brutal frankness she expounded her full thought.
"When will that bigot leave me in peace?... Old people ought to make wayfor the young. What fun do they get out of going on living?"
They had finished eating. She went on filling both their glasses withher special drink. At first Michael had found it repugnant, but in theend he was attracted to its refreshing fragrance which gently troubledthe senses, like an intoxication with perfumes.
"Of course you use the pipe," said Alicia simply.
He shook his head and thought of the odor which struck him on entering.He knew what sort of a "pipe" it was, and gazed about the study. Thesmoking den must be in some hidden corner!
"A man like you!" she went on. "A sailor! And I fooled myself intothinking we'd smoke together!"
She even gave him to understand that the hope of being able to give himthat forbidden pleasure was the principal reason for her invitation. Shebecame resigned when she learned that the Prince, vigorous as he was,suffered nausea every time he attempted to experiment with that Asiaticvice. And while he lighted a havana, Alicia took from a silver case thecigarettes which she smoked in the presence of the "uninitiated":Oriental tobacco, but heavily dosed with opium. Suddenly Michael wasconvinced of something of which he had a presentiment the moment heentered the place, or even earlier, the moment their glances had met inthe cemetery. He saw her half rising from the cushions, with apanther-like contraction of her muscles, as though she were ready tospring at him. It was the concentrated impulse of the beast, beautifuland sure of its power, unable to wait, and not knowing how to feign.
Alicia had forgotten the demi-tasse she held in her hand, as she satthere, looking at him fixedly. The tiny blue electric spark dancing inher eyes was something well known to Michael.
It was the offering glance of female silence, inviting violence, andmastery. He had encountered that glance often along his path of triumphas a conquering millionaire.... He felt he must say something at once tobreak the silent charm of the beautiful witch, who, sure of her finalvictory, was smiling and blowing puffs of cigarette smoke toward him. SoMichael alluded to her amorous fame, to the great number of lovers shewas supposed to have had. That might widen the distance between them.
"Ah! You too?" said Alicia laughing, with masculine frankness. "I don'tsuppose your morals are the same as Mamma's! You are not going to readme a sermon on my behavior. Although, after all, Mamma doesn't blame mefor what I do. What makes her angry is the fact that I am not afraid ofwhat people say, and that sometimes I am attracted to unknown men of lowbirth. Poor Senora! If I were to have an affair with a king or a crownprince, perhaps she'd even let us see each other in her house, and haveher _Monsignor_ mount guard into the bargain."
She remained silent for a moment. That disturbing glance was still fixedon Michael.
"It is true; I have had a lot of men. And how about you? Do you think Idon't know about your wanderings all over the planet in quest of typesof women unknown to the novels and capable of giving new sensations?...We have both done the same: only it wasn't necessary for me to travelaround so much to learn just what you have learned.... And
you are notso absurd as to imagine, as certain men do, that our cases are not tobe compared because we are of different sexes."
The Prince listened silently as she expounded her ideas. She was deeplyin love with life, and in return she demanded all that life could giveher.... The minds of other women were occupied with questions of amaterial nature: desire for wealth, longings for luxury, domesticcares.... As for her, she possessed everything; to-morrow held noworries for her; not even in regard to her beauty, sustained as it wasby wonderful health, and seeming to increase in spite of age and herprodigal waste of energies.
In her life, made up of caprices, always completely satisfied, even tothe point of satiety, only one thing interested her, from its infinitevariety and from its many phases, which might seem to vulgar people amonotonous repetition of one another, but which in reality were distinctfor a mind attuned, as hers was, to exquisite sensations. That thing waslove.
"Oh please understand me, Michael; don't sit there laughing to yourself.You know me too well ever to imagine that I believe in love as themajority of women do. I know that a certain amount of illusion isnecessary to color the material aspect of love; we all lie about it alittle, and we enjoy the lie even though we know it as such; but waydown deep, I laugh at love as the world understands it, just as I laughat so many things which people venerate.... I don't want lovers, I wantadmirers. I am not looking for love; I care more for adoration."
She was proud of her beauty. She spoke of Venus as though the goddesswere a real person. She admired the Olympic serenity with which theDeity of Passion gave herself to gods and men, never surrendering hersuperiority even at the moment when she was submitting to thedomination of the stronger sex. Alicia considered herself asuper-beauty, belonging to a sphere outside the ordinary limits of viceand virtue. She thought herself a living work of art; and art is neithermoral nor immoral; its mission is fulfilled when it is beautiful.
"Poets, painters, and musicians seek to abandon themselves to thegreatest number of admirers. They do their utmost to enlarge theircircle of public worshipers and with feminine coquetry they try toattract new suitors. I am like them. I do not need to create beauty, foras they say, I have it in myself. I am my own work, but I love glory; Ineed admiration; and for that reason I give myself generously, contentwith the happiness which I apportion, but keeping my public at my feet,without allowing myself to be dominated by those whom I seek."
Michael was sure that many artists must have left their imprint on thatwoman's life. It was evident in the words and imagery with which sheendeavored to express her enthusiasm for her own body. Her pride in herbeauty was boundless. What were the ambitions of men, compared to thesatisfaction of being lovely and desired? Only the glory of warriors, ofblood-stained conquerors, whose names are known even in the remotestwilds of the earth, equals the glory that a woman feels in the sense ofuniversal power over men.
"To me," continued Alicia, "the truest and most beautiful thing everwritten is 'the old men on the wall.'"
The Prince looked at her questioningly; so she went on to explain. Shereferred to the old Trojan men in the _Iliad_, who were protestingagainst the long siege of their city, against the blood sacrifice ofthousands of heroes, against poverty and hardship, all due to the faultof a woman.... But Helen, majestic in her beauty, passed before the oldmen, trailing her golden tunic; and they all lapsed into silentcontemplation, rapt in wonder, as though divine Aphrodite had descendedupon earth; and they murmured like a prayer: "It is indeed fitting thatwe should suffer thus for her. So lovely she is!"
"I like to see men suffer on my account. How glorious if I might be thecause of a great slaughter, like that ancient immortal woman!... I havean exultant feeling of pride when I notice that envy and spite arewhispering behind my back, starting all that gossip that makes my motherso furious. Only extraordinary people stir up torrents of abuse.... Andafterwards, in the drawing rooms, the very same austere gentlemen whohave seconded all that their wives and daughters have to say against me,look at me with sly admiring glances, as I pass; and some of them blushin confusion and others turn pale. It is easy to guess that I have onlyto beckon and their silent admiration would.... I too have my 'old menon the wall.'"
Michael suddenly realized that while she was talking she had been cominggradually closer, from cushion to cushion as she lay resting on herelbows. She was almost at his feet, with head held high, endeavoring toenvelop him in a wave of magnetism from her fixed and dominating eyes.She seemed like a black and white snake, twisting forward little bylittle among the cushions as though they were rocks of various colors.
"The only man of whom I have ever thought the least bit, the only one Iever considered at all different from other men," she continued in ahalf whisper, "is you.... Don't be alarmed: it isn't love. I am notgoing to invert roles, and propose to you. Perhaps it is because, aschildren, we used to hate each other; because you never wanted me. Thatis such an unheard of thing in my life, that it alone is enough tointerest me."
She put her hands on his knees, as though she were about to rise.
"When I saw you in the cemetery, after so many years, I remembered allthat I had heard about you. Many women whom I know have been sweetheartsof yours, and I said to myself: Why not I, too? Then I thought of allthe men who have come into my life, and I added: Why not he?" ...
And now Alicia's elbows were resting on his knees, and as the Prince wasseated on but two pillows, their lips and eyes were almost on a level.As she talked he could feel her breath on his face. It was like thebreeze in an Asiatic forest, whispering beneath the moon. The spices andflowers with which the wine was saturated seemed to float in thatvolatile caress.
Michael tried to avoid her advance, but one of Alicia's hands wasalready on his shoulder. He merely shook his head.
"Don't be afraid," she added, exaggerating the caressing quality of hersigh. "There are no embarrassing obligations with me. You may leave mewhen you wish; perhaps I shall be the one to leave you first. I havewanted you for the last few days. You must surely desire me as theothers do.... Let us live this moment, like people who know the secretof life and all it can give.... Then if we tire of each other, good-by,with no hard feeling and no pining!"
When from time to time in after years the Prince recalled that scene, healways felt a certain dissatisfaction with himself. He was sure he hadseemed brutal as well as ridiculous. In his travels he had approachedwomen frequently in the most matter of fact way, often remembering themafterwards with some repugnance; yet here he was, rebelling with afeeling of offended modesty at the advances of the Duchess. No! Withher, never! Rising within him he felt the same displeasure that had oncemade him raise his whip in his youth.
He found himself on his feet in the middle of the study, lookinganxiously toward the door and muttering stupid excuses. "No, I must go:it is late. Some friends are waiting for me...." She had gained controlof herself. She too was standing looking at him with astonishment andwrath.
"You are the only one who could do a thing like this," she said, in acutting tone, as they parted. "I see it all clearly now. I hate you asyou hate me. My whim was a stupid one. You have permitted yourself aliberty which no one in the world will ever be able to take again. If Iwere younger than I am I would thrash you again as I did in the Bois;but instead, just consider that I am repeating everything I said then."
They did not see each other again.
When the Prince had set in order everything concerning the inheritancefrom his mother, he thought of resuming his voyages, but on a moremagnificent scale. It was no longer necessary for him to ask thePrincess for money. He was one of the great millionaires of the world.Those who were in charge of the administration of his affairs--an officewith numerous clerks, almost equalling the government bureau of a smallstate--made the announcement that the fifteen million francs which thePrincess had received annually would soon be twenty, through thedevelopment of Russian railways, which allowed more intensive working ofhis mines.
The Colonel wa
s commissioned to have the heavy medieval walls of VillaSirena torn down, and the place replanned according to the Prince'stastes. The latter hated architectural resuscitations. He could not bearmodern buildings patterned to flatter the pride of the rich proprietors,after the Alhambra, the palaces of Florence, or the solemn and orderlyconstructions of Versailles.
"The furniture ought to correspond to the period," said Michael, "andpeople ought to live in such houses as they lived in in the centurywhich produced that particular style. People living in an ancient houseought to dress and eat as in former times.... What an absurdity toreconstruct those historic shells, with the interior arranged to suitthe needs of modern men who are forced to commit an anachronism at everystep!"
He recalled the project of a millionaire friend of his, a member of theInstitute, who had built a Roman house on the Riviera, Roman in all theexactness of its details. At the house-warming the guests were obligedto sleep on corded beds and to eat reclining on couches; and even moreintimate conveniences were modeled on the principle of hygiene known tothe ancient Caesars. Within twenty-four hours they all pretended they hadreceived urgent telegrams calling them to Paris, and the owner himselfafter a few months, left his house in charge of a keeper to show totourists as a museum.
Michael was fond of modern architecture, whose cathedrals are machineshops and large railway stations. Applied to dwellings it pleased himfor its lack of style: white walls, a few moldings, rounded corners,with no angles whatsoever, so that the dust might be pursued to itsremotest hiding places, wide openings letting in the breeze and thesunlight, double walls between which hot or cold air, and water atvarious temperatures, could circulate.
"Up to the present time," the Prince asserted, "man has lived inmagnificent jewel cases of art and filth. Modern architects have donemore in the last thirty years to make life pleasant than theartist-builders, so much admired by history, did in three thousand. Theyhave declared running water and the bath-room as indispensable, thingswhich were unknown to kings themselves half a century ago. They haveinvented the furnace and the water closet. Don't talk to me about themagnificent palaces of Versailles, where there was not a single toilet,and where every morning the lackeys were obliged to empty two hundredvessels for the king and his courtiers. Often to be through quicker,they threw their contents out of the majestic windows, and sometimes itwould fall on the sedan chair and the retinue of a Dauphine or anambassador."
Toledo applied himself to supervising the construction of Villa Sirenain accordance with the desires of the Prince, making it a plain whitebuilding, and without any definite style of architecture. Lubimoffhimself, at the proper time, would take charge of the artistic touches,placing famous pictures, statues, tapestries, or rugs, just where theywould be most pleasing to the eye. The house was to be a harmony ofsimple, pure lines. The walls were to have heating and cooling systemsfor the different seasons, and running water was to be available inabundance everywhere. Each room was to have its electric lights and itselectric fan.
The Prince found it a much easier task to make over his wandering oceanresidence. He simply sold the Gaviota, which reminded him of hisyouthful dependence on his family, and went to the United States to lookinto an advertisement. Three years before a certain multimillionaire hadbegun the construction of a yacht, designed to be more luxurious and ofgreater tonnage than that of any European sovereign. As the American wasabout to witness the consummation of this triumph of the democratickings of industry over the historic kings of the Old World, he waskilled in an automobile accident, and his heirs did not know what to dowith the leviathan which would only be of use to an immensely rich,and, in their opinion, somewhat crazy traveler. They were thinking ofselling it at a loss to the Kaiser, William II, having decided finallyto endure his demands as a sharp business man, when Prince Lubimoffappeared. A week later on the white stern and bows of the yacht a newname in gold letters was displayed, a name that was repeated in additionon the life preservers and on the various tenders, the dingies, thesteam launches, and the motor boats. The American yacht had become the_Gaviota II_.
It had the tonnage of a small trans-Atlantic liner and the speed of atorpedo boat. Each day the wealth of an ordinary man went up in smokethrough the _Gaviota II's_ double funnels. During a trip to some distantisland, the supply of coal gave out. Immediately a collier chartered bythe Prince, came to meet the _Gaviota II_ in the farthest seas to fillthe bunkers with fuel.
Quiet harbors came to be illuminated at night, as though the sun hadrisen. When the Prince gave a _fete_, the ship would be a blaze of gloryfrom the water to the mastheads, its outline marked by electric bulbs ofvarious colors, while powerful searchlights shot out movable streams ofradiance and drew the waves, the shores, and rows of city houses fromthe depths of the darkness. At other times, the white fire of the_Gaviota II's_ monstrous eyes would flash on walls of ice towering tothe clouds, and seals, penguins, and polar bears would waken from sleepfrightened by the strange luminous, puffing monster that darted off likelightning into the mystery of night.
To be the owner of a floating palace which, when anchoring off largecities, drew such crowds of sightseers as rare spectacles only attract,was not enough for Michael Fedor. So he created something moreinteresting even than the luxurious salons, and the refinements ofcomfort of the _Gaviota II_: he built up an orchestra.
Sensuous delight in music was for him the most exquisite of emotions.When his ears were satiated with the sweetness and melody of traditionalmusic, he sought unknown and often bizarre composers, who aroused hiscuriosity; but he always came back to demanding as the _pieces deresistance_ of his harmonic feasts, the masters who had been his firstlove, and above all, Beethoven.
Treated as though they were officers, paid to their liking, and with theadded inducement of being able to see a great deal of the world,musicians from every country offered their services to the yacht'sorchestra. Famous concert players and young composers came in as mereinstrumentalists. Some were ill, and sought to regain their health in avoyage around the world in real luxury and without expense; othersembarked through love of adventure, to see new lands in this floatingcastle, in which everything seemed organized for an eternal holiday.There were never less than fifty of them.
"My orchestra is the finest in the world," the Prince would proudly saywhen his guests complimented him after one of the concerts his musiciansgave at rare intervals on land.
In tropical nights, beneath the enormous honey-colored moon changing thesea to a vast plain of quick-silver, the musicians, seated in eveningclothes before the rows of music racks illuminated by tiny electriclights, would weave on the quiet air, which seemed to have retained thefirst faint cries of the planet at its birth, the most originalmelodies, the most subtle combination of sounds that the sublime raptureof artists in god-like inspiration ever created. The music floated outbehind the boat in the mystery of the ocean, like a scarf unfolding,breaking and scattering in fragments, with the smoke of the funnels.When the orchestra paused one could hear the distant subdued beat of thepropellers, churning the foam with a humming sound; and then from timeto time the slow tolling of the bell calling the men on watch, or thecry of the lookout snuggled into the crow's nest on the mainmast,reporting his vigilance with the rhythmic intonation of a muezzin from aminaret. And the monotonous music of the sea gave an impression ofnight, and of immensity, to the music of man.
At the foot of the companionways, or on the outjutting parts of thelower decks, the various officers and officials of the Prince gatheredto hear the concert in the night. On the prow the sailors squatted,listening to the music in religious silence, as is often the case withsimple men when confronted with something they do not understand, butwhich inspires awe. Aft, the only listener would be Michael Fedor,standing at a distance from the music, and with his back toward themusicians, watching at his feet, the divided, foaming waters whichrushed by like a double river far out and away from the boat. Asoccasionally he raised his cigar to his lips, his pensive features wouldapp
ear for a moment in the darkness, lighted by the red glow.
The yacht held another more silent group. Those who succeeded in gettingon board in the ports always obtained a distant glimpse of a woman ortwo with white shoes, blue skirts, jackets with rows of gold buttons,masculine collars and neckties, and officers' caps. No one knew forcertain how many such women there may have been. The men of the crewwere forbidden access to the central quarters of the boat, and to theupper deck. Some of them, chancing to break the rule through oversight,had met the Prince's companions attired in elegant naval uniforms, ormore lightly clad, like dancers, in elaborate and exotic costumes. Atthe large ports, steam launches landed these mysterious and beautifultravelers for a few hours on shore. It was remarked that they dressedwith modest elegance and that they would speak various languages.
When the _Gaviota II_ returned and anchored in the same harbor she hadvisited the preceding year, those whose curiosity had been aroused foundthat the personnel of the wandering harem had been completely renewed.They might occasionally recognize one or two of the former ladies, butnow their faces wore the placid expression of the odalisque who has beensupplanted, but is nevertheless contented with luxury and oblivion.
Some years Michael Fedor suspended his travels, during the summer, totake up his abode at fashionable beaches. The women who accompanied himon his long voyages remained on board, with all the lavish comforts towhich they were accustomed. At other times he parted with them, as onedismisses a crew when a ship goes out of commission, at the end of atrip.
Immediately he became interested in women living stay-at-home lives, inshore society, and in summer flirtations at famous watering places. Hewould take up his abode in a hotel on the coast, while his yacht was tobe seen rising from the azure waters, motionless, like a palace ofmystery and magnificence, the center of all feminine imaginings.
Living in Biarritz he came to know Atilio Castro intimately throughlearning that they were related on his father's side. The Spaniardadmired the fascination exercised by the Prince, often without wishingto do so, on all women.
Never at any period had women been more strongly attracted by luxury orfelt less scruples in the means of obtaining it than at present. Thiswas the opinion of Castro. Lavish display, which in other centuries hadbeen within reach of only the very few families, was now possible forevery one. All one needed to indulge in it was money. Besides, it wasnecessary to take into account present-day progress in material things,which has made life easier, but at the same time has increased ourneeds.
"The motor car and the pearl necklace have made more victims than thewars of Napoleon," said Atilio.
"These two things are like the gala uniform of women, and those who areforced to go without them consider themselves unfortunate and illtreated by fate. This twin image has shattered the illusions of maidensand the fidelity of wives. Mothers in middle class society, withmelancholy dejection written on their faces as though they had madestupid failures of their lives, advise their daughters: 'If you aregoing to get married, make sure you will get an auto and a pearlnecklace.' And long after the modest marriage this desire still remains,strengthened by maternal advice. Luxury is the one thought, luxury atwhatever cost. Luxury has been democratized. It is within reach of all,obtainable through money, which has no taint, no odor, no sign of itsorigin."
"You are the great provider of the expensive motor car of fashionablemake and of the rope of pearls," continued Castro. "You are the greatSultan of magnificence. Your signature to a check is enough to sweep awoman off her feet in a torrent of gold. Make the most of youropportunity! The period in which you were born has left you an openfield for your talents."
And the Prince, who was not at all in need of such advice, went his wayas conqueror through a world in which the best accredited virtuescollapsed before his attack. Even sincere resistance finally appeared tohim to be a clever device for postponing surrender and increasing themarket value of desire. The millions from Russia were scatteredbroadcast in smaller and smaller subdivisions, maintaining the wellbeing and display of many homes, indulging the taste for luxury ofnumerous ladies, and keeping numberless factories busy producing elegantnovelties of female luxury. A few women felt a sincere interest inMichael Fedor for his own sake, because of the mysterious prestige ofhis voyages in a boat which was talked about as though it were anenchanted palace; and also because of his adventures with celebratedactresses and women of high society, which made him more attractive. Butonce their vanity and curiosity were satisfied, they allowed their ownself-interest to have a word. "Why should I be any more altruistic thanthe rest?"
They were not obliged to use cunning or round-about phrases informulating their requests. Some at the second meeting, took on amelancholy air, and spoke of the sad realities of life. But the generousPrince anticipated their desires. He preferred to pay his mistresses anddazzle them with splendid gifts. Thus he could regard them as favoredslaves covered with jewels. In this way also, it was easier to breakwith them: He could go away from them whenever he so desired, satisfiedwith his own behavior, and quite unmoved by their tears and laments.From his semi-oriental Russian ancestors he had inherited a greatsensual capacity, which caused him to be attracted to women, and at thesame time to feel an inalterable scorn for them. He indulged them butcould not love them; he adored them, but was stirred to indignation whenthey presumed to be on terms of equality with him. He was capable ofruining himself, of braving death for them, but he was ready to thrustthem aside with his foot if they tried in the least to govern his life.The ambitious ones who feigned deep, passionate love for him in the hopeof marriage, the sentimental ones who tried to interest him withpsychological subtleties, and those who kept their maternal enthusiasmeven in adultery, and murmured in his ear how happy they would be tohave a child who might resemble him, waited for him in vain thefollowing day. "Neither deep passion, nor children!" ... Two trails ofsmoke were soon rising from the yacht, carrying its owner to anotherport or perhaps to another continent: or if he wished to flee from acity in the interior, he gave orders that his private car should becoupled to the first train that was leaving.
These flights were never undertaken without a generous remembrance.Michael Fedor's munificence continued for those whom he had abandoned.Each year new names were added to his budget, like that of a reigninghouse which allots pensions to its forgotten servants. But the pensionsof Prince Lubimoff were for the maintenance of luxury and not of life.The most modest were over thirty thousand francs a year. The average wasdouble that amount.
"Your Excellency: there will have to be a revision," his administratorwould say.
Michael would examine the list of names, hesitating at a few. He couldnot recall clearly the persons who bore them. Then suddenly he wouldsmile, as certain visions were suddenly and attractively awakened in hismind. He was immensely wealthy: why not keep up the luxury which was theone dream of all of them?... He was not disturbed by the jealous thoughtthat his successors would be reaping the benefit of that luxury.
He felt a certain god-like pride in making his generosity felt at alltimes, without letting himself be seen. In Paris a jewelry shop managedby a Jew of Spanish origin limited its entire business to the productionof the Prince's gifts. His gems of high intrinsic value, with no falseartifices, had a certain family resemblance, a sort of imaginaryperfume which enabled the women who displayed them to recognize eachother. When it was least expected, at tea time, in the dining-room of ahotel, at an elegant watering place at a dance, two women who had justmet would gaze at each other's ears and breast in silence, until theboldest, blushing imperceptibly under her rouge, would ask simply: "Youknew Prince Lubimoff too?..."
Atilio Castro felt a deep admiration for his relative, less on accountof his triumphs than of the iron constitution required to sustain them.
"What a Cossack! A regular Cossack!... He is a true descendant of thatlover of the Great Catherine!"
Nevertheless, frequently the yacht would hurriedly put out to sea onlong voyages
, without its master being forced to flee from any dangerousor entangling passion. He was running away from himself, from hisperverse imagination and curiosity, which made him seek and alluredifferent women, upsetting his peace of mind, without rousing in him anyreal desire. He undertook the most extraordinary voyages, for the sakeof the bracing air and the sense of restfulness the sea brings. Theorchestra accompanied him; but the "harem" remained on shore. He hadgone completely around the globe, following the shortest route; then hehad repeated this circumnavigation, but over a zig-zag course, to becomeacquainted with all the coasts of the earth. At present he was on goingon whimsical trips; he was sailing from one hemisphere to another forthe pleasure of visiting one or another of the small islands which seemlost in the Pacific, and are so tiny that on the maps they look likemere dots placed after long names traced on the blue colored surface.
Returning from one of these excursions on which he went around the worldas though it were his personal property, he received by wireless thenews that Germany had declared war against Russia and France.
He felt no great surprise. He knew William II personally. It was becauseof him that Prince Lubimoff avoided cruising off the coast of Norway insummer.
The year following his acquisition of the _Gaviota II_ he had comeacross the Imperial yacht in those parts. The Kaiser, like an officious,all-knowing neighbor, came to see him in order to look over the yacht,examining it in all its details, giving advice, reviewing the men andmaterials, making a dissertation on the engines and interrupting himselfto advise certain changes in the uniform of the crew. After a breakfaston his own yacht, and luncheon on the Emperor's, Prince Michael had hadenough of this unexpected friendship. Lohengrin, with his winged helmet,white mantle, and both hands on the hilt of his sword, was lessunbearable than this gentleman with turned up mustache, and wolfishteeth, dressed like a sailor, who laughed a false and brutal laugh, and(whenever he met on the seas a multimillionaire from America or Europe)played the role of a man of great simplicity and of an unconventionalsovereign. Money inspired deep veneration in this story-book hero, thismystic with a mind fed on grandeur. Michael had never shared theenthusiasm of various snobs for the German Emperor. He smiled at theHohenzollern's theatrical tastes, his war-like bravadoes, and hisintellectual ambitions which pretended to embrace the whole knowableuniverse.
"He is a comedian," Michael said on receiving the news of the war, "acomedian who for a long time is going to make the whole world weep....And to think that the fate of mankind should depend on such a man!..."
Michael Fedor considered himself as a being set apart from the rest ofmankind. He lamented the war as something terrible for the rest, butwhich could not influence his own particular fate. Since a madness forblood had descended upon Europe, he would go on sailing distant seas.Thanks to his wealth he could keep beyond the margins of the struggle.
But times changed rapidly; life was not the same: all old values hadlost their significance. In spite of her Russian flag, the _Gaviota II_found herself halted by some English torpedo boats and was forced tosubmit to a minute inspection. They could not believe that any oneshould be cruising for pleasure when all the seas had been convertedinto a battlefield. In the latitude of the Azores it became necessary toforce the yacht's engines to escape from a German corsair.
Besides, fuel was getting scarce. The various coaling stations locatedhere and there on the coast were reserved exclusively for the warships.Important news kept coming by wireless from far-off Paris, where thechief agent of the Prince was located. Communication had been broken offbetween the Paris office and the administrators of the Lubimoff fortunein Russia. No money was coming from there, and the French banks, withtheir vaults closed by the _moratorium_, were willing secretly to lendmoney to a millionaire like the Prince, but not in quantities sufficientto meet his current needs.
The yacht came to anchor in the port of Monaco, and Michael Fedor, onarriving in Paris, almost laughed, as though witnessing somepreposterous change in the laws of nature. The heir of the Lubimoffs inneed of money, and compelled to make an effort to obtain it--somethinghe had never done in all his life! Here he was having to ask for loansat frightfully usurious rates, on the security of his distant and famouswealth, which for the first time was regarded somewhat contemptuously!...
When communications were reestablished in an intermittent fashionbetween Western Europe and Russia--which was practically isolated--theadministrator of the Prince gave a look of despair. The collections hadbeen reduced eighty per cent.
"According to that, I am going to be poor?" asked Lubimoff, laughing,the news seemed so unbelievable and absurd.
It was very difficult to send money as far as Paris. Besides the roublewas decreasing in value at a dizzy rate. Millions on reaching Francebecame mere hundred thousands. Mobilization had left the mines withoutworkmen; there was no outlet for the produce; the peasants, seeing theirsons in the army, refused to pay any money, and even to work. TheRussian government, to keep as much money as possible at home, limitedto small amounts the money sent to citizens residing abroad.
"The Czar putting me on a pension!" said the Prince in amazement. "Athousand or two thousand francs a month!... How absurd!"
* * * * *
But he did not laugh long. His anger against the Russian court, whichhad gradually been growing in his subconsciousness ever since hisexpulsion so long ago from Petersburg, now moved by a selfish impulsesuddenly flared up. The Czar and his counselors, desirous ofRussianizing all Eastern Europe, were responsible for the war. Theycertainly might have kept peace with Germany. Why disturb the peace ofthe world, for the sake of a little race of people in the Balkans?
He coolly made fun of certain of his friends who, by devious routesacross Europe and the icy Northern seas, returned to Russia to regaintheir former commissions in the army. As for him, he had no desire todie for the Czar. It made little difference to him whether his countrywere governed by Germans. There were times when he even thought thatwould be preferable, so long as peace were restored rapidly, allowinghim once more to reap the benefit of his wealth, and resume the life hehad been leading a few months before, or, as it now seemed, a halfcentury before.
The next two years went by for Lubimoff like a nightmare. What sort of aworld was he living in?... His former friends were disappearing. Some ofthe frivolous women who had made life pleasant for him were not moved inthe least by the unfortunate events which were happening; but othersshowed themselves to be heroic and self-sacrificing, forgetting all theyhad done before, feeling a new soul developing within them.
The Prince suddenly found himself dragged along by the world happenings.A mysterious and irresistible force was pushing against him, causing himto lose his balance, just as he was reaching the pinnacle of his life,so pleasant, so vast, crowned with a halo of such glory. And now, oncestarted, he was tumbling head over heels, of his own inertia, and eachstep he struck as he descended, gave him a harder blow, a more painfulsurprise. How far would this landslide take him?... What would he strikeat the end of this unheard-of fall?...
His interviews with his Paris administrator seemed to him like somethingtaking place in another world, subject to ridiculous laws. Theseconferences always ended with the same order on his part:
"Try and get some money. Ask for a loan.... I am Prince Lubimoff, andthis cannot last. Whoever wins--it is all the same to me--order will bereestablished, and I shall pay my creditors immediately."
But the administrator answered, with a look of dismay: "Raise money onproperty in Russia?..." Taking advantage of the former prestige of thePrince, he had been able to negotiate various loans; but time waspassing and the enormous interest was accumulating. Lubimoff in spite ofcutting down expenses and doing away with pensions, was in need of moneyfor his current living expenses.
The fall of the Czar gave a ray of hope to this magnate who hated theImperial government. "With the Republic the war will be over sooner andwe shall come back to the proper order of t
hings." His egoism made himconceive of a Republic as a form of government occupied chiefly withrestoring the wealth of beings of fortunate birth. The meager shreds ofhis fortune which now and then still got as far as Paris were suddenlycut off. The fountain of wealth was dry. The crumbling of a whole worldhad dammed its source, and perhaps forever.
"Your Excellency must sell," the administrator was always saying. "Youmust do without everything that is superfluous. We must liquidate intime. Who knows how long the present state of affairs may last!"
The yacht was lying idle in Monaco harbor. Almost the entire crew,composed of Italians, Frenchmen, and Englishmen, had left it to go andserve in the navies of their respective nations. Only a few Spaniardsremained on board, to keep the boat clean.
The _Gaviota II_ was renamed by the English admiralty, and turned overto the Red Cross. When he signed the bill of sale, Michael Fedor feltthat he was giving up his whole past. The romantic prestige of his modeof life was vanishing now for all time; the _Arabian Nights_ palace wasbeing converted into a hospital ship.... What a world!
The English millions afforded him a year of respite. The administratorpaid the huge debts, and he was able to live without economizing, inParis, a Paris nearing the end of its third year of war withinexplicable tranquillity, resuming its usual pleasures as though alldanger were past. Love affairs with two distinguished women, whosehusbands were called to arms--although they were not at thefront--caused him to spend a few months, now at Biarritz, now on theRiviera, and now at Aix-les-Bains.
His agent disturbed these enjoyments. He was constantly repeating thesame advice: "You must sell." The Prince's fortune was already like anold ship drifting aimlessly. The administrator had stopped the lastleaks with the money from the most recent sale, but warned him at everymoment that she was taking in water through new ones.
In the end Michael Fedor grew accustomed to misfortune, accepting itserenely.
The sale of the palace built by his mother moved him less than that ofhis yacht.
At the same time his desires had changed. He was beginning to tire oflove adventures, which seemed to be the only object of existence. Hisfresh and vigorous constitution, which had amazed Castro, suddenly brokedown. But this was more the result of worry than of physical wear andtear.
He felt that he was poor, and was he not accustomed to pay royally forhis love affairs? Not being able to reward women with luxury, he wouldrather flee in order not to accept from them and be obliged to toleratefrom them their caprices. He preferred to master his desires, as long ashe could not satisfy them with all the grandeur of an orientalpotentate. Besides he was tired of love, and all the pleasant things oflife a man can find in this world!...
He thought of his friend Atilio, of the Colonel, of Villa Sirena, whiteand shining in the Mediterranean sunlight, among the olive trees andcypresses.
"The earth is being swept by the deluge. Perhaps the old lands will oncemore appear; perhaps they will remain submerged forever.... Let us takerefuge in our Ark, and wait and hope."
The Enemies of Women (Los enemigos de la mujer) Page 3
